Out past the county line is a house with a boy’s vivid imagination taking over the yard. There are newspaper boats resting in mud puddles, a top-secret fort built high up in one of the trees, slingshots and guns made from sticks, and ropes hanging from the trees just perfect for swinging. This is where Owen lives. He lives here with his mom Nicole and dad Joseph. They bought this house eight years ago looking for a quiet get-away with a big yard and plenty of trees. This is the perfect place for Owen.
Owen is six years old and has the heart of a true explorer, spending most of his time outside with his chocolate lab Max. He doesn’t really play well with most of the other kids though. During recess he wouldn’t want to play soccer or race with everyone else. He wanted to go on deep sea adventures or defeat pirates on the playground. You can usually see Owen out in the yard whenever you drive by. Sometimes you have to look closely to see him, with his shaggy brown hair and rugged play clothes on, sitting up in the tree fort planning his next feat. Some nights at dinner Owen will continue his journeys at the table, telling stories to entertain his parents while they all eat.
Owen is always looking for a new adventure, and he knows that there is always something new around every corner. He gets excited about simple things like going to the grocery store and walking to school. Owen can find fun and exciting things in just about everything, he’s not afraid to let his imagination run wild. He knows how to have fun and enjoy life.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
The Clubhouse
My dad has five sisters, each one of them has at least two kids. So when we were all together there were fifteen grandkids. I loved playing with my cousins when we were all at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. We would all go to the back room and play for hours and hours until our mothers told us to come eat. We would do things like pretend to be cats. Kara and Levica were always the moms and the rest of us girls were the babies. The boys didn’t participate in cats; they usually took grandpa’s boat oars and used them as guitars. Once for Thanksgiving we took brown paper grocery bags and made vests like Indians and put on a pilgrims and Indians play for our family. We had such imaginations when we were together.
Then one day when I was about 4 years old, dad and grandpa decided to build us a clubhouse. We were all so excited and wanted to help build so bad. Dad took us out to the edge of the woods on the north side of the house and started clearing out a trail. We all helped by carrying 2x4s and some of the tools. We were so excited on the way; we could hardly contain ourselves. Once they found the perfect spot they discussed the plans and strategized. While they were getting set up we all went out to explore. We found a small ditch nearby where a tiny creek was running through which would later be filled with frog eggs and bugs of all sorts. Once we heard the chainsaw start up we all ran back up to the construction site to watch. By now all the older boys were helping cut wood and hammer pieces together. They built the most simple, basic tree house. It was a large plywood floor raised by 10 foot poles. There was a hand built ladder we used to get up and down; unless, of course, you were Brant. He preferred to climb up a tree to get on and he would get down by a young tree that grew next to the clubhouse. He would hang on to it and it would bend down just enough so he could land perfectly on the ground. Everyone else was too chicken to give it a try.
Once the clubhouse was finished it seemed like they could never get us away from it. We played house out in the woods, we had dancing contests up top and races down to the ditch. We took turns telling stories to each other. Brant even taught my little sister Caren how to burp up there which got us started on burping contests. We let our imaginations run wild out at the clubhouse. We could stay out there for hours at a time and not get tired of it.
Then the ice storm came. Ice and broken tree limbs took over our clubhouse. The trail to get out there was blocked by large fallen trees. We tried to get through to the clubhouse, but it was next to impossible. There was just too much debris blocking the way. By the time the ice was melted and it was safe to be out in the woods our parents figured that all the fallen trees had done too much damage.
The trail is grown over now. Every once in a while I’ll walk around the edge of the woods trying to remember the exact spot where the trail started, but it just all looks the same and I can never seem to find it. I can picture our clubhouse now taken over by vines, shrubs, and trees. Even though it’s long gone and can’t be found, I still love that place. I cherish all the memories that took place there with my cousins. We still talk about it from time to time; we’d like to just see it one more time. To visit the place where I learned so much and had so much fun would be wonderful.
Then one day when I was about 4 years old, dad and grandpa decided to build us a clubhouse. We were all so excited and wanted to help build so bad. Dad took us out to the edge of the woods on the north side of the house and started clearing out a trail. We all helped by carrying 2x4s and some of the tools. We were so excited on the way; we could hardly contain ourselves. Once they found the perfect spot they discussed the plans and strategized. While they were getting set up we all went out to explore. We found a small ditch nearby where a tiny creek was running through which would later be filled with frog eggs and bugs of all sorts. Once we heard the chainsaw start up we all ran back up to the construction site to watch. By now all the older boys were helping cut wood and hammer pieces together. They built the most simple, basic tree house. It was a large plywood floor raised by 10 foot poles. There was a hand built ladder we used to get up and down; unless, of course, you were Brant. He preferred to climb up a tree to get on and he would get down by a young tree that grew next to the clubhouse. He would hang on to it and it would bend down just enough so he could land perfectly on the ground. Everyone else was too chicken to give it a try.
Once the clubhouse was finished it seemed like they could never get us away from it. We played house out in the woods, we had dancing contests up top and races down to the ditch. We took turns telling stories to each other. Brant even taught my little sister Caren how to burp up there which got us started on burping contests. We let our imaginations run wild out at the clubhouse. We could stay out there for hours at a time and not get tired of it.
Then the ice storm came. Ice and broken tree limbs took over our clubhouse. The trail to get out there was blocked by large fallen trees. We tried to get through to the clubhouse, but it was next to impossible. There was just too much debris blocking the way. By the time the ice was melted and it was safe to be out in the woods our parents figured that all the fallen trees had done too much damage.
The trail is grown over now. Every once in a while I’ll walk around the edge of the woods trying to remember the exact spot where the trail started, but it just all looks the same and I can never seem to find it. I can picture our clubhouse now taken over by vines, shrubs, and trees. Even though it’s long gone and can’t be found, I still love that place. I cherish all the memories that took place there with my cousins. We still talk about it from time to time; we’d like to just see it one more time. To visit the place where I learned so much and had so much fun would be wonderful.
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